


Hannibal 101

by mneiai



Category: Blade: Trinity
Genre: Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, F/M, Minor Violence, Pre-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how they came to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hannibal 101

1.

This was not how Hannibal was planning on spending his night--fighting off _hunters_ at his favorite club when he should be leaning against one of the booths as some wannabe sucked his dick and cooed over him. Was nothing sacred?

He'd taken out three of them before most of the other vampires in the room managed to duck for cover. Hannibal couldn't hold back the sneer, knowing they'd never survive an hour in the House of Talos. Danica would eat these weaklings alive and then, if they were lucky, get bored and hand them over to Jarko. Hell, half of them were getting dusted as they ran, not even able to avoid a few humans with some shiny toys.

Hannibal turned on the next one coming at him, a cute redhead with the look of a killer in her eyes. She had enough skill to counteract his strength and speed, but that just made them evenly matched, even with the silver knives she was waving around.

"You know, as first dates go," he began, glad that he didn't have to worry about running out of breath, "this is not actually my worst."

Her eyes narrowed and she didn't respond. He knew her type, trying to seem super serious in everything they did, having something to prove. It was the exact opposite of his Danica (she could do and say anything she wanted and still be a badass) and he wasn't sure if that was a turn-off or not.

A blade sunk into his side and he lashed out with a roar, catching her against her chin. Her whole body snapped back, crashing into a table three feet behind her. He heard something give, but was pretty sure it wasn't bone. The knife had gone with her, but it left behind a throbbing, bleeding hole.

He took the opportunity to slink off, avoiding the other hunters who were busy with their own fights or running to help the chick.

When he got back, Asher laughed at him and Danica shoved a finger into his wound, wiggling it around like she wanted to fuck it. If she had a penis, Hannibal was pretty sure she would've. Instead she actually played nice, throwing him down on her bed and bringing him a pretty little twink with sweet, sweet blood to wash away his sorrows.

2.

Hannibal normally considered himself a lucky guy--vampire--whatever. He'd been found by one of the heads of one of the most prestigious vampire families around instead of some newborn loser, gotten turned when he could have gotten killed, and become a favorite right off the bat. It got him a nice suite, a ridiculous allowance, and the freedom to go wherever the hell he wanted when Danica didn't need him.

So, yeah, maybe he sometimes ducked into a movie theater for a little taste of humanity, but who could blame him? Horror movies were fucking hilarious when you were a vampire. And it tickled him to know that he'd have most of the people watching, bored or just to make out, pissing in their pants if he revealed his true self (surprisingly, this was also how he got Jarko to go with him a few times--the guy had more imagination than anyone gave him credit for).

He didn't expect to see anyone he knew, so he was a little surprised when a familiar smell wafted across the lobby at him. Except that it wasn't really anyone he _knew_, it was a hunter. It was the redheaded hunter who had a fine body and pretty features, now that they weren't set into a homicidal scowl.

Or, at least, they weren't until Hannibal waved at her from ten people over, catching her attention.

She looked around nervously, as if she was expecting some huge vampire attack in the middle of a movie theater on a Thursday evening. Hannibal snorted and then motioned her to follow him, slipping down a little hallway into the room where they stored the artificial butter, napkins, and the bags full of popcorn they'd made the day before and were dragging out for the customers.

Redhead drove a stake down towards his chest the minute the door shut behind her. He twisted out of the way, gripping her arms tightly behind her back and shoving her face first up against the wall.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you're not a very nice person." The way she snarled in reply made him wonder if she really was all human. "Listen, you might not be, but I can be a _very_ nice guy. Which is why I'm not gonna bite you here and now. Even if I bet you've got some nummy blood, throbbing with adrenaline, and fear, and," he buried his nose in her neck, breathing deep, "is that a hint of arousal I detect? My, my, Miss Hunter, you're a naughty one."

"Shut the fuck up, leech. I wouldn't want to fuck you if you were the last male on the planet."

He snickered, lapping gently at her artery, knowing how freaked out it had to make her. "Oh, I see....So you would if I were the last female, is what you're saying?"

She bucked back, almost hitting him with her head.

"Well, when you're feeling a bit more sociable, my name's Hannibal. Hannibal King." He transferred her wrists into one of his hands (damn, she was a delicate feeling thing despite being sinewy and strong) and fumbled around in one of his pockets before coming up with a pen. "My number's on your arm. Enjoy your movie!"

He gave her another good shove against the wall and was gone before she turned.

3.

If anyone had asked him, Hannibal would say there was maybe a 10% chance that the hunter would call him. He figured that she'd be tempted just from the novelty of it and, added to that, she seemed to have quite the adrenaline kink, one that human guys probably couldn't fulfill.

When he did get the call, though, he was shocked enough to be as civil as he knew how.

"Yo," he answered when the sweet sounds of the Spice Girls filled the air.

"Hello, King."

He paused, thinking over whether or not he was expecting a call and, if he was, whether or not he'd been stupid enough to agree to go out with one of Danica's "friends." "Who's this?"

"Whistler. You wrote your number on my arm."

"Oh, oh, ohhhh. Really? Whistler? Thought he was some creaky old guy that hung around the Daywalker. Is this where you say 'no relation' or where you tell me a sob story about being his long lost daughter?"

"...So, you're always this annoying, then?"

"Honey, you don't even know the _half_ of it."

There were a few moments of silence and Hannibal rolled off of his bed, sorting through his closet for something black, expensive, and very tight. He didn't _think_ she was calling for a date, but maybe she really did have that big of a danger kink.

"Do you like being a vampire, King?"

Hannibal actually let himself consider the question, one that was always playing in the back of his head. "Well, the hours are kinda shit and I have it on good opinion that I look my best when tan, but you can't really beat the benefits package."

"Right. Goodbye."

"Hey, wait, what was this--."

She'd hung up before he could finish. He stood in front of his huge closet, state of the art phone in hand, and felt like he actually was missing something.

"Whistler," he whispered, rolling the name around inside his mouth carefully, as if it would catch on his fangs.

4.

"You know, we can't keep meeting like this. People are going to start to talk."

Redhead's--Whistlers'--eyes narrowed in a now familiar expression. "You!"

"Yep, me! Oh, the horror, the humanity! Me!" He danced around her as she lashed out, missing what looked like a seriously powerful roundhouse kick by centimeters. "I know what you're asking yourself, you're asking yourself what a pretty little thing like me is doing in a place like this. Or maybe the other way around--have you been drinking?"

Whistler was obviously trying to perfect the age old art of killing someone through a glare. "What _are_ you doing here, anyway? I wouldn't think this kind of place is your scene."

He glanced around at the carnage of the blood bank, humans and vampires all caught in the crossfire of the last battle. Danica had sent him in to pick up a package, not knowing she was sending him into the scene of a major crime. Thankfully he'd been, per usual, late, and missed the majority of the fun.

"Playing messenger duty for the boss. Even smooth operators like me have to kowtow sometimes."

"Riiight. And who's the boss?"

Hannibal smirked at her, waving a finger in a "no, no" gesture. "You really think I'm going to answer that? Anyway, what are you doing here? You people aren't known for cleaning up your own messes."

She frowned, then glanced at a bag in her hand. Hannibal tried to work out what was in it, what it could have in relation to the bank, but he didn't know enough about the hunters to make an educated guess--Danica took some weird joy in keeping him as sheltered as she could.

"That's none of your business. And I was just leaving. Have fun calling in the cover-up crew."

He stuck his tongue out at her, then glanced back over the mess. "Fuck me," he sighed, pulling out his phone.

5.

Danica had been out of town for a month. It was the longest they'd been separated since before Hannibal was turned and he didn't really know what to do with himself. When she'd told him about the meeting, he'd waved off her mocking concerns, telling her he'd be fine on his own. This morning, though, he'd been holding his phone in shaky hands and dialing her number over and over again, debating how he could beg her to let him finish out the trip with her without sounding like a complete submissive fool.

So, going out seemed like a good idea. Sprawling on a couch and watching the vampires and wannabes grinding against each other, licking up the occasional line of blood flowing down somebody's wrist, Hannibal had to admit he was bored. Boredom was definitely one of his problems.

The main issue with having a sire like Danica was that she kept him on red alert 24/7. He couldn't let his guard down, even if he found a weird way to relax despite that, and he certainly couldn't stop moving. Even Asher, who was like a bland, ineffectual version of Dani most days, was enough to keep Hannibal on his toes. Without either of them it was like going from some Technicolor, surround sound dream world into an old black and white silent picture. And that was _not fun_.

Maybe that's why he didn't move when the hunters burst in and started shooting. He didn't even bother pushing the girl sitting on his lap out of the way as a projectile sluiced through the top of her head. Hannibal just watched, eyes roving over the hunters until he found Whistler, moving like she was born to it.

"King," she acknowledged when she hopped over into his section of the club.

"Whistler." He drew out her name, closing his eyes and making the act of speaking it sensual.

It earned him a laugh, at least. "So, tell me, King--Hannibal--are you tired of being a vampire?"

Hannibal froze, staring at her. He wondered if she was a telepath, but knew that this whole thing, whatever she was up to, was completely unrelated. "If I am, what's in it for me? Life spent feeding you information and being your pet leech?"

"Oh, no, King. You see, we've got a new experiment in the works, and we're looking for a volunteer--someone who's not going to fight the process every step of the way." She was close enough to touch, leaning in to him until he could feel her breath against his lips. "We've got a treatment that can turn vampires back into humans."

He blinked, figuring his disbelief was clear on his face. Something a lot like hysteria was bubbling up inside him, alongside thoughts of Danica, and the ennui that was setting in after only five fucking years, and the memory of pressing up against Whistler's back in the dark of a storeroom.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Let's do it."

6.

Hannibal had thought he knew what pain was. He had spent five years as Danica Talos' favorite, had bled out more times than he could remember, had needed parts of him sewn back on long enough for his healing to remember they existed. Nothing compared to this. To this burning, eating at his veins, at his brain, stealing the life from him as it moved.

Whistler stood over him, eyes flickering to the manacles holding him against the exam table, face unreadable.


End file.
